


Boyish

by loglady1980



Series: Psychopomp [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loglady1980/pseuds/loglady1980
Summary: This is how love dies. Not a blazing wildfire, leveling blooming forests, not an atomic blast, vaporizing bustling cities and quiet towns, but a slow, calculated twist of a dagger, a silent scream carving away at two hearts until they’re unrecognizable.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Psychopomp [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195649
Comments: 55
Kudos: 126
Collections: lewi's fav





	Boyish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ffonippop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffonippop/gifts).



This is how love dies. Not a blazing wildfire, leveling blooming forests, not an atomic blast, vaporizing bustling cities and quiet towns, but a slow, calculated twist of a dagger, a silent scream carving away at two hearts until they’re unrecognizable. 

_Your boyish reassurance is not reassuring, and I need it._

“Dream!” George hollers.

“What?” he spits, heart stuttering as George pounds relentlessly on their closed bedroom door.

“Are you going to lock yourself in there and mope like a child, or come out and talk to me?”

“Fuck you, George!” Dream screams, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to ignore the ugly creaks coming from the door.

The pounding stops, and George sinks to the floor with a loud sob that twists its way into Dream’s heart, causing his chest to tighten painfully. After a moment’s silence, Dream walks over and eases himself down so they’re sitting back-to-back through the bedroom door, the same door George flung open the day he moved in, cannonballing onto the soft mattress. 

“Why do you shut me out?” George demands. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m tired of fighting,” Dream mutters, feeling his gut contort with shame.

“You don’t think I am?”

“You’re really fucking irritating sometimes, you know that?” Dream murmurs.

“The feeling is mutual,” George says unabashedly, slamming his fist against the floor.

They sit in silence for a few moments, listening to each other’s heavy breaths as George’s quiet sobs slowly die out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why we keep fighting like this.”

“I- Do you-” Dream stutters, swallowing the lump in his throat, “do you still love me?”

“‘Course,” George says roughly, sliding his fingers under the door. “Of course I do.”

Dream reaches out and connects their fingertips, pretending like George’s voice doesn’t reek of saccharine deceit.

_And all of my devotion turns violent._

“Dream?” George calls, numbly washing dishes amidst aching silence, “I think I’m gonna stream now.”

“Okay. Let me know when you’re done,” comes the hoarse reply.

George finishes up a half-hearted stream two hours later, going through the motions as Dream’s words echo agonizingly in his mind. He creeps out to the living room, finding his boyfriend laying on the sofa, curled up in a pile of blankets next to Patches. Dream looks like an angel, with soft curls fanned out under him and soft lamplight casting shadows on his tanned skin, hopelessly freckled from days in the blazing Floridian sun. He whimpers softly in his sleep, causing inexplicable tears to prick at George’s eyes and sending debilitating guilt shooting through his spine. Dream turns over, and Patches leaps off the sofa in alarm, padding over to languidly rub her head against George’s bare calves. “Hi baby,” he whispers, picking her up, wondering if Dream ever watches him like this, with a guileless, skittish fascination. 

It was always humbling, being in Dream’s presence. Even asleep, he exuded a sort of relentless magnetism that ate away at George’s very soul, clouding his thoughts with nothing but _Dream, Dream, Dream._ It was hard to keep up with someone like him, someone who radiated raw, unbridled joy, someone whose mind worked so swiftly, it made others feel impossibly excluded, one step behind, left to scramble in the ashes of his wildfires. Dream was all-encompassing, simultaneously far too much and not nearly enough—he was the sun, and George always flew dangerously close. 

George tries his best, tries to show love in ways he’s unaccustomed to, in bear hugs and overly affectionate cuddles, loud declarations and fancy dinners, rather than knowing glances and stolen kisses, gentle brushes of fingertips and sleepy breakfasts. It’s never enough for Dream—never loud enough, never obvious enough, never good enough. George grows used to those infuriating flashes of hurt that dance across Dream’s face every time he dodges a kiss in public, every time he breaks an embrace far too early, every time he locks himself in the bathroom and cries, rather than allowing Dream to share his weight of living.

“It’s okay, baby, we’re just wired differently,” Dream used to say with a gentle smile. 

George presses his lips to Dream’s temple in silent apology, walking back to their bedroom with Patches in tow. 

It’s the first night they spend apart.

_If you go to her, don't expect to come home to me._

Pretty girls seemed to flock to Dream, enticed by the long blonde curls and easygoing smile, the warm green eyes, the wheezing laugh that made fireflies whiz around George’s brain, so it’s no surprise when a girl comes up to him and strikes up a conversation in the middle of Sapnap’s birthday party, her closeness and sweet perfume causing George to grow nauseous with every passing second. He excuses himself quietly, barely noticing how Dream’s eyes track him dutifully as George makes a beeline for the bathroom, pushing past drunk friends and acquaintances, shivering at the feeling of limbs haphazardly brushing against him. 

He lowers himself into the bathtub, hugging his legs to his chest, and stares at the ceiling as tears traitorously rush down his cheeks. After a while, Sapnap bursts in, beer in hand, and gives George a concerned look, sinking down next to the tub and staring at him expectantly. 

George feels ill.

“Hi,” Sapnap mumbles.

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” George chokes out, “just feeling a little sick.”

Sapnap nods knowingly, reaching over to pat George on the arm. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m still your friend. No matter what.”

“Thanks,” George mutters as his cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

“He loves you, you know that, right?”

George rests his head on his knees, turning to look at Sapnap. “Y’know, if you’d told me that a month ago, I might have believed you,” he says, laughter bubbling up in his chest. He lets the butterflies free, lets his laugh echo coldly off the pale bathroom tiles.

Sapnap gives him a strange look but nods nonetheless, taking a swig of beer. “Do you love him?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“I wish I knew,” George says quietly. “Sometimes, I wish I never met him.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he’d be happier.”

“Doubt it, dude,” Sapnap says. “For him, the Earth rotates around you.”

 _No,_ George wants to cry. _He’s the sun, not me. I’m just the idiot letting himself get burned alive._

They return to the party, and George watches as Dream laughs with the kitchen girl. The skinny, blonde kitchen girl with the red solo cup. 

“Have fun?” George murmurs once they climb into the car.

“Yeah,” Dream chuckles. “I forgot how insane Sapnap’s parties were.”

“That makes one of us,” George mutters under his breath, staring out the window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“George,” Dream groans, fiddling with the seat warmers. “What happened?”

“Nothing, it just seemed like you were having fun with kitchen girl.”

“Kitchen girl?” Dream scoffs. “That’s Sapnap’s cousin. You should have said hi.”

“I did. She ignored me.”

“George, I’m sure she didn’t ignore you. Everyone was drunk, you’re just quiet sometimes.”

“Yeah, that must’ve been it,” George hisses, picking at his seatbelt, “must’ve been my fault, right? Not the fact that she was flirting with you.”

“She wasn’t-”

“And you flirted back,” he spits, the final nail in the coffin.

“MAYBE I DID!” Dream roars, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “Maybe, for once in this miserable fucking existence, it was nice to feel like I was actually capable of being _wanted_.”

“What the fuck,” George seethes, “what the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know exactly what it means,” Dream accuses, turning to look at George with venom in his eyes. 

“I don’t know- I don’t know how to be what you want,” George cries, balling his fists. “How many times do I need to tell you I want you? How many times, Dream?”

“Say it like you fucking mean it,” Dream hisses, grabbing George’s arm roughly and pulling him close. 

They sit in Sapnap’s driveway, screaming at each other, ear-splitting music making the car feel like it’s bound to topple over until George smacks his hands over his ears, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, feeling Dream’s gaze burn holes through his skin.

“You should sleep at Sapnap’s tonight,” he murmurs. 

“Great fucking idea,” Dream growls, aggressively unbuckling his seatbelt and wrenching the car door open. 

“Dream?” George calls.

“What now?”

“I love you.”

“Save it,” Dream says, a tear slipping out of his eye. “Save it.”

George cries until his throat is raw and his eyes sting, letting the music drown out his sobs as he drives home bleary-eyed and broken.

It’s the second night they spend apart. 

_I can't get you off my mind, I can't get you off in general._

“George, George,” Dream gasps, “I- I can’t.”

“What?” he groans as Dream collapses onto him, the feeling of sweat-slick skin making him squirm.

“I can’t-”

“Oh,” George whispers. “That’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Dream says lowly, sliding out.

“No, no, I’m sorry.”

“I think I’m just too tired right now.”

“Yeah,” George replies numbly, feeling the tears already starting to form. “Tired.”

“Wanna go to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mere,” Dream mumbles, pulling at George gently. George lets Dream maneuver him, going limp in his arms as the latter encompasses him fully. They lay together with tangled limbs, and George listens for Dream’s breaths to even out before letting himself cry, soaking the bed sheets with salty tears.

_So here we are, we're just two losers._

“George!” Dream giggles, stirring a nearly-overflowing pot of pasta. “It’s our song!”

“Really?” George asks with a soft smile, “Turn it up then.”

They slow-dance together in the dim kitchen lighting, “Hey There Delilah” blasting through Dream’s shitty phone speaker. George presses his ear to Dream’s chest, listening to his heartbeat pound in time with the music. 

Dream drops his cheek to rest on George’s head, and it feels right. It feels normal. It feels like they fit together just the way they’re supposed to. 

“I love you,” Dream says suddenly, heart fluttering. 

“I love you,” George replies, grabbing at Dream’s shirt like he’s bound to drift away. 

_I want you and you want something more beautiful._

Dream pours all of his love into George, hoping someday it’ll reach across every universe. 

George pours all of his love into every universe, hoping someday it’ll reach Dream. 

_Lack of inhibition works wonders in revealing every demon._

They’re piss-drunk, sitting on the living room floor as a shitty rom-com plays on mute in the background. Dream’s sweaty face is illuminated by the screen, and he’s never looked more beautiful.

“You’re pretty,” George says sharply, playing with a loose tendril of Dream’s hair.

“I think we should break up,” Dream replies, mouth twisting into a strange smile, despite the tears spilling from his eyes. They fall from his cheeks onto George’s sweatpants, circular drops staining the dark fabric.

They wake up the next morning in each others’ arms, skin pressed to skin, and George feels his heart sink when Dream lazily kisses him awake, the previous night’s confessions washed away with copious amounts of vodka.

_And all this confrontation, this suffering._

“Do you remember what you said to me last night?” George asks casually, letting water mist his face as Dream lathers shampoo in his hair. 

“Hmm?” Dream hums, pressing a kiss to the side of George’s neck before motioning for him to turn around, allowing the spray to slowly rinse out the bubbles.

“You told me- you told me you thought we should break up,” George says, meeting Dream’s gaze, blinking rapidly as shampoo stings his eyes. 

“I was drunk, George. I didn’t mean it.”

“We’ve been fighting,” George murmurs as Dream’s arms trail down his sides, spreading soap across his entire body. 

“Shh, baby, just enjoy the moment.”

George is thankful for the water spraying his face. It almost looks like tears. 

_What do you want from me?_

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Dream sighs, watching as George stares at him from across the bedroom, looking like a delicate wallflower, all long limbs and deliberate movements.

George walks forward, joining Dream in bed. “I want you to talk to me, I want you to explain why you’ve been treating me like I’m a piece of trash, like I’m expendable. I want to know what I’m doing wrong. I want to know why you can barely bring yourself to look at me anymore. I want to know why you said those things while you were drunk.”

“I do talk to you,” Dream says, cupping George’s face gently, still refusing to make eye contact. “I don’t think I’m treating you like you’re expendable, I’ve just been really busy with videos and streams and merch stuff recently. You’re not doing anything wrong. I made a mistake when I was drunk. I didn’t mean it, I promise.”

“How can I be better?” George sniffles. 

“You’re perfect.”

“Then look me in the eye.”

Dream hesitantly flicks his eyes up, shifting uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his neck harshly until George looks away.

“See, you can’t even look at me,” he spits. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“I need to go to Sapnap’s,” George says quietly, blinking away tears. 

Dream nods, feeling his heart sink. “I’ll drive you,” he rushes. “At least let me drive you.”

George sighs, allowing Dream to take his hand and lead him to the car, aching to just turn around, to run back into the house, to cry and scream and throw things at each other and reopen scabbed wounds again and again until their problems were solved, until they were whole again, until “I love you” meant “I love you” and not “I’m trying to get rid of you but you just won’t go away.” 

Dream started a ritual after their first fight—they’d look into each others’ eyes after every argument and remind themselves why they fell in love. George doubts he could think of a single reason, even if he tried. 

Sapnap opens the door with a sad smile, giving Dream a long hug before leading George inside. 

It’s the third night they spend apart.

_If you don't like how I look then leave._

“Dream, this isn’t you,” George begs after a particularly nasty fight. 

“This is _exactly_ who I am,” Dream spits harshly, “and if you can’t fucking handle it, _leave.”_

_I can't get you off my mind, you can't get yours off the hostess._

George eats dinner in silence, sipping water out of a fancy restaurant wine glass as Dream chats with a waitress about the weather. 

“Why’d you talk to her like that?” George asks once they get home.

“Like what?” Dream huffs.

“Like you used to talk to me.”

It’s the last night they spend together.

_Watched her lips reserving tables, as my ugly mouth kept running._

He knows it’s coming before the sentence even leaves Dream’s lips.

“George, I think I’m done.”

_Love me, love me!_

“Where will you go?” Dream murmurs, feeling George stiffen against him as they embrace for the last time, standing in the living room they decorated together.

“Home.”

_“I’m home!” George shrieked, running through the front door all those years ago, an hour after his flight landed in Orlando International Airport._

_“Home?” Dream had asked, eyes shining._

_“Home.”_

Because this— _this_ is how love dies.

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) 
> 
> thank you for reading, and thank you to my love agora (gaygiggling on ao3) for looking this over before i posted <3
> 
> i hope you enjoyed, even if it made you a little sad. this fic was inspired by boyish by japanese breakfast, i definitely recommend checking out her music :)
> 
> thank you all for the support, take care of yourselves. 
> 
> love from the loglady <3


End file.
